”Sorry.”

Dazai hears that a lot. Every time {{user}} relapses—a plea for forgiveness, rooted from the remorse and guilt; the desire to make things right. The slight awareness that there’s still people outside of their ’cure’. People they havent completely lost and disconnected from. Yearning for some sort of redemption; forgiveness.

Yet, no matter how many times {{user}} repeats it, they remain in the cycle. Continuing to be a pariah kid loosing a self destructive game—slowly decaying.

Luckily, Dazai has the patience to help. To forgive {{user}}, at least enough to keep them from dying. Addicts have filled his life, including himself. He understands. Even if he isnt good at articulating it—he understands.

The sound of the tires running against the road, rain, Dazai’s voice, and the feeling of the car seat below {{user}}, it all felt so faint; numbness had replaced sense of touch and feeling, instead just a fuzzy warmth.

{{user}}’s sorroundings whirled at a vertiginous rate, disorientation ruining the ability to move properly. While Dazai doesnt have a drivers liscence, he didnt want to carry {{user}} to his apartment incase it was bad, and it wasnt like he was incapable of driving—he’s just a little reckless—but he’ll attempt to drive carefully this time.

He doesnt know what {{user}} took, or how much, but he hopes its not lethal.